Saint Just's Return
by ChildrenoftheBarricade
Summary: When the ghost of Saint-Just tries to use his grandson in a revenge attack against the monarchy, he finds he has competition for catching his attention in the spirit of Patria... I am aware that this is extremely predictable . E/C established relationship. R&R please! Rating for safety and possible strong language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Apologies for the terrible characterisation of Saint-Just. It was a lot worse, but I did a bit of research. Not historically accurate; after all, Enjy is Saint-Just reincarnate - not the paternal type. Well, it's a bit of fun, so enjoy.**

Prolouge - Saint-Just

A baby was crying. Her mother wrapped her in a blanket, putting her into a basket, then took her out. She set the basket down on a doorstep and tucked an envelope in beside her baby, kissing her forehead. "I'm so sorry. It's the only way, my girl. I hope you remember that I love you." She hammered on the door of a building, brushing her fingers against the envelope one last time. It was addressed to _Louis Saint-Just_.

Saint-Just looked up from his newspaper when the door banged. A few moments later, his doorman came in holding a basket, which he set on his master's desk. Saint-Just flicked back the blanket and bit his tongue to hold in a shocked oath. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

"Who is this?"

"I don't know. The basket was left on the doorstep. You can't leave an infant out in the streets."

"No." The revolutionary mused for a moment, then nodded. "It's far too late now. Take it to the orphanage in the morning. I'll read the letter and see if I can find out more."

"Yes, sir." Saint-Just recognised the handwriting as that of a girl he used to court. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He opened the letter and started to read.

_Louis,_

_I know this is difficult for you. First of all, I'm so very sorry. Secondly, this is Marianne. She's my daughter. Our daughter._

_I haven't left Marianne to punish you or ruin you. It's not your fault. We haven't seen each other in over a year, and I never told you that I was with child. I know revealing her would cause a scandal, and I didn't want that to happen. I realise, even know, that bringing up Marianne is a threat to you, but I trust you'll see that she is cared for._

_Please, don't think less of me for this. I would not abandon her unless I had no other choice. I've looked after her the best I can. In truth, I'm dying. I have consumption, and I don't have much time left. I had to make sure Marianne was safe before I died. I'm so sorry that it fell upon you. Look after her. Remember me._

_All my love,_

_Vanessa_

"Well," Saint-Just said aloud. He couldn't raise a little girl. Maximilien wouldn't be happy, for starters, and he didn't have time to spare for a child.

A son would have been a different matter. He could imagine a son, a younger version of himself. He could be sent to boarding school until he was old enough to care for himself and then he could join the cause.

In the end, he asked a friend, M. Enjolras, to care for Marianne. They raised the girl as their own, telling her nothing of her true father. In the end, it was he who betrayed Saint-Just and the others, sending them to their deaths.

On July 28th, 1794, aged just twenty six years, Saint-Just stood on the scaffold. He surveyed the crowd with cool disdain, the only one not to lose his voice in terror. He only regretted that he'd never had a son to take up his mantle. He knelt beneath the blade, then oblivion.

In the restoration of the monarchy, Enjolras's betrayal led to him rising as an aristocrat. Marianne was raised firmly royalist, proud of what her family had done. In 1808, she married another aristocrat. Despite being almost double her age, Antoine-Phillippe d'Orléans was from a good family, and the brother of Louis-Phillippe, the future king.

After a year, Marianne fell pregnant. Not wanting to raise her child in the crowded, noisy city of Paris, they relocated to the south coast, Marseilles. Here, on the fifteenth of May, 1810, she gave birth to a son. He was a healthy young boy with bright blonde hair and blue eyes, by the name of Valentin.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I wasn't incredibly clear... E/C has eight possible combinations that I can think of. It means Enjolras and Courfeyrac, one of my three shortlisted OTPs (I know the O stands for 1, I will choose eventually). Anyway, chapter 1. The start of this chapter came from a few I read where Enjolras pierced his ears in his youth, and I wanted to try it.**

**Thanks to TheOtherPonineGirl. You give me faith that someone is bothering to read this. :-)**

Chapter 1 - Valentin

"What on earth do you think you're doing? That Aimé de Courfeyrac is a bad influence. What do you think you are, a bloody pirate? It will probabaly get infected. Then what will you do?"

"Survive," Valentin answered, not dropping his father's gaze. He didn't get on with his father. He always introduced himself using his mother's maiden name, and only Aimé, as his closest friend, knew the truth. "I really don't see the problem."

It had been his idea, not Aimé's. He'd just needed his friend to encourage him when he hesitated slightly. They'd gone to the city, met up with someone Aimé knew and gotten her to pierce Valentin's ears, just as his parents had forbidden him from doing so. He'd walked home, head held high, minus a few francs in return for the pair of gold hoops. Unsurprisingly, his father had not been impressed.

"You don't see the problem? Look at you! That ridiculous hair, the way you dress and now this!"

"Am I showing up your public image, father?"

"Don't use that sarcastic tone of voice with me. Get out of my sight and remove those bloody earrings. You look like a girl."

"No, you don't want my ears pierced because you don't want me to be anything like Saint-Just."

"Don't you dare mention that name in this house. Go."

With an overdramatic sigh, Valentin traipsed up to his room. He stood in front of the mirror, admiring the flash of gold that made him look a little further from the aristocracy and a little closer to his idol. At sixteen, he did look a bit like a girl, with golden hair reaching to the top of his shoulder blades, bright blue eyes with long lashes and a slender figure. But, at the same time, there was a power and strength in his expression which made him decidedly male.

He glanced out of the window, to the sprawling limbs of the tree, just a foot away from the glass. He told Aimé he'd meet him on the beach as soon as he could get away. He pushed the window open and, with a well practiced leap, landed on the thickest bough, scrambling down the trunk and running towards the sea. His parents would never know he was gone.

Aimé was sat on the sand, waiting. He was two years older than Valentin, but not wiser. He encouraged rather than restrained his friend's antics, understanding but ignoring the deeper need behind it all - the need for change. Not just for him, but for France. Only by gaining freedom for his family could he go on to free his country. He was a revolutionary at heart, and Aimé just made things worse, but they enjoyed their bad behaviour.

Valentin sat next to Aimé on the sand. The older boy put his arm around the younger. "How did he react?" Valentin sighed.

"As you'd expect. And yours?" Aimé had originally been terrified of the cruel looking metal tools his friend was using on Valentin. As a compromise, Valentin convinced him to get a single gold stud, and he'd capitulated, much less noticable or impressive than Valentin's. Then again, Aimé thought, everything about his friend was more noticable and impressive.

"They weren't impressed, but it could be worse. At least I don't have your father. Was it really that bad?"

"Could have been worse, I suppose. It was just the usual stuff that he spouts when I get into trouble. He told me I should get rid and they make me look like a girl. Maman was disgusted. She said they make me look like a young Saint-Just."

"That's the biggest compliment she could have given you. At least facing an array of small terrifying pointy metal things wasn't in vain."

"One small revolution at a time, eh? Today we're piercing our ears, tomorrow we're overthrowing the monarchy."

"Where there will be bigger, pointier metal things. Remind me why exactly I listen to you?"

"Because you know I'm right."

That was the first in a long line of small victories that got bigger and bigger. If not for his mother's affection, Valentin knew he would have been disinherited and he didn't care. Not long after his seventeenth birthday, he gave up entirely and ran away to Paris with Aimé. They joined the law school, Valentin once again following in his idol's footsteps and acquired a circle of friends with similar interests. They went under the guise of an exclusive literary society, known as Les Amis de l'ABC. In order to stay relatively anonymous, they used only their surnames.

The numbers soon grew, and Valentin, now Enjolras, appointed seven lieutenants in the society, his closest friends and most trusted compatriots. They were Aimé, now Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Laigle, Joly, Feuilly, Bahorel and young Jehan Prouvaire. They also managed to attract a cynical drunk, Grantaire, who seemed attracted only by the force of opposites. He hung on nonetheless, and Enjolras accepted it with a grim resignation.

One afternoon, the group were in their usual meeting place in the Cafe Musain. The group had been formed for around six months, and were already a close knit society. Courfeyrac was sat with Enjolras, reading something, one hand aimlessly fiddling with Enjolras's hair, much to the blonde's annoyance. The others, more open-minded than most of society, had accepted that the relationship of the pair had passed beyond frienship, and left them to it. Only Enjolras's deputy, the ever-sensible Combeferre, seemed upset, but that was more due to the fact he thought Courfeyrac childish and immature.

"You're joking." Courfeyrac's words seemed to be addressed to the paper before him. The others looked at him, and Combeferre sighed.

"What on earth could be so important that you see fit to interrupt us?"

"Well, Enjolras, you can give up your life of celibacy in the name of the republic." The fact that Courfeyrac wasn't gifted with fidelity scarcely registered with Enjolras, though he didn't understand why Courfeyrac expected him to be the same.

"My only loves are you and Patria. But please do explain what would make you say that."

"Saint-Just has been your idol as long as I can remember, right? He dedicated everything to the republic as well. But apparently, Saint-Just wasn't as celibate as you. A letter from a former mistress has been discovered. He had a child."

All eyes suddenly turned to Enjolras. "Why look at me? Not possible. He died sixteen years before I was born."

"Yes, and it was a daughter. But the thing is, they've found out who this daughter was, and she apparently has a son."

"Why are you all looking at me?" he repeated. "With a family name like d'Orléans, I am not a descendant of Saint-Just." Courfeyrac smiled.

"No, you're him reincarnate. But that's not all. Saint-Just, Robespierre, all of them were betrayed."

"Yes, we know that. What of it?"

"Well, the thing is, they were betrayed by a M. Enjolras. Your grandfather."

Enjolras's jaw dropped. When the meeting was over, he left Courfeyrac drinking with Bahorel and headed home in a stupor. His own family had been responsible for the downfall of his idol, his hero. Perhaps the name of d'Orléans was preferable to the name of a traitor.

When he got home, still thinking these thoughts, he sat down at the kitchen table. He heard a sigh and looked up sharply. "Is someone there?"

"Yes," a voice replied from nowhere. "And believe me, you needn't worry. That Enjolras is no father to my Marianne."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Should really stop multitasking, I'm working on three multi-chapter fics, two one-shots, and I have prelims coming up D-: Nevertheless, I endavour to keep going, but updates my be few and far between. Because I haven't mentioned it yet, I don't own Les Mis (not even the brick yet... I have 46 days to go). Oh, and my Courfeyrac and Combeferre don't get on. I just think it's more fun when they're fighting. And thanks to the unknown reader who pointed out my mistakes. I won't make them again.**

"Is someone there?" Enjolras repeated. He looked around, wondering who had spoken. The apartment was empty. Was he hearing things?

"Yes. I am." Turning back to the kitchen, he saw a figure stood by the door. The figure of a man he'd never met but could instantly recognise. He let out a sharp laugh. "What's wrong, boy? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Enjolras cursed under his breath. "_Mon Dieu_. A hallucination with a sense of humour."

"What makes you think you're hallucinating?" Saint-Just asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you serious? It's 1828. You died thirty-four years ago." The revolutionary sighed.

"I was warned about this. Does meeting your idol not make up for some date in a history book? Let's just agree I'm a spirit." Saint-Just noticed that the young man was taking it quite well. He hadn't run out screaming, and he was having a conversation, even if he did think it was in his head. Enjolras regarded him coolly.

"You're not like I thought you'd be."

"Doesn't that show you that I'm not a hallucination, if I don't conform to your imagination? As you said, I've been dead for three decades. That changes a person."

"I'll be reasonable. Let's assume you exist. What reason does the spirit of a dead revolutionary leader have for standing in my kitchen?"

"I thought she was going to explain everything to you. I bet she's hiding, so she doesn't terrify her precious little future hero. In my opinion, you need toughening up."

Enjolras just looked at him. "I won't even pretend I understood that. You mentioned Marianne. My mother Marianne?"

"My daughter Marianne. Not that I'd planned to have a child. I couldn't look after her! So I gave her to someone I trusted, and he betrayed us all. Now she's the bratty daughter of an aristocrat, set to inherit a fortune and become all contented and happy. So I have to appeal to you."

"I really am your grandson then? Coincidental that this should happen just as Courfeyrac tells me that he even had a child. I'm not convinced."

"She said she'd timed it so that that little bit of news would leak just before we came to you. It's not coincidence, she planned it. Trust me."

"Who on Earth is she?"

"That would be me," a soft female voice said from behind him. Enjolras groaned.

"Great. Twice the hallucinations." He sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Apparently these spirits had physical substance. No, this was ridiculous. He was hallucinating. The female voice spoke again.

"Relax, little one. We don't mean to be a burden on you. We need your help." Enjolras looked up at the woman. Her age was indeterminable. She had long red hair and golden eyes.

"Who are you?" She considered for a moment.

"I suppose, in your tongue, I'm Patria." Enjolras shook his head, jumping to his feet.

"I can't believe this. I need some air." He headed for the door. Saint-Just started after him, but Patria pulled him back. He went straight back to the cafe, where only Combeferre and Courfeyrac were still present. Combeferre glanced up at his friend, noticing the shock and confusion on his face.

"Enjolras, are you alright?"

"No. I think I'm sickening." He sat down next to Courfeyrac, who put an arm around his shoulder.

"Are you sure? You were fine earlier. Though perhaps I should leave that diagnosis to the medical student."

"Surprisingly, he's right. You showed no symptoms of illness this afternoon. What's changed?"

"I'm hallucinating. I'm seeing things that can't be real."

"Like what? Enjolras, I've known you longer than most." This earnt a glare from Courfeyrac. "You're not the sort to suddenly start seeing things. How do you know you were hallucinating?"

The sharp cold tone of the reply warned Combeferre that he was agitating his friend. "Because it's impossible. I just sat sat in my kitchen and had a conversation with Saint-Just and Patria." Courfeyrac bit back a laugh.

"You never do things by half, eh? Most people just imagine a few mythological creatures. So what are your imaginary heroes like?" Enjolras glared at him for poking fun, but answered nonetheless.

"Saint-Just wasn't like I imagined. I thought he'd be more... well, more like a hero. Childish, I suppose, he's only human but I suppose we always idolise our childhood heroes and expect them to be superhuman. He told me that I was his grandson, and that he needed my help. By the time Patria turned up, I panicked. I came here."

Combeferre considered for a moment. "Forgive me if I sound insane, but lets assume for the purposes of our conversation that this really happened. Maybe you did just communicate with two spirits. If you are the grandson of Saint-Just, it's logical that he'd come to you for assistance. Take Courfeyrac home, see if he can see these spirits. If not, come back to me."

Courfeyrac took his arm. "Come on, then. I hope to God that this is real. I can't wait to see this. Let's go."

**A/N: This chapter was longer, but I split it in two. I decided it had to be Combeferre to suggest it might be real because it says in the brick "he denied nothing, not even the existence of ghosts." Hopefully will update the next chapter soon.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Apparently I took to long to upload last time :-( My apologies, and as penance, I'm uploading this as quickly as possible. Not sure Saint-Just was quite this tempermental but I blame it on three decades of being dead... not a very good excuse, but ah, well. **

Enjolras led Courfeyrac back to their apartment, not saying a word. He got Courfeyrac to wait outside and went in to establish whether his 'hallucinations' were still there. He wasn't impressed to discover they were. Saint-Just snorted.

"You're back quickly."

"Yes. And you are going to show yourself to my friend."

"Why should we?"

"I know you need my help. But I won't help you until I prove you exist. So you will show yourselves to Courfeyrac."

"It's fine," Patria said. "You're right, it's the easiest way to prove it."

"Ha! You're letting a child tell you what to do? He's a spoilt, stuck-up, arrogant brat."

"I guess it runs in the family then, Grandfather," Enjolras snarled. Patria sighed.

"Just do it. You know we need him, whether you like it or not. And you have no say in what happens. You are here only to help."

"Fine." Enjolras turned around and pulled open the door, allowing entrance to his closest friend. Courfeyrac looked up at the two apparitions, and his jaw dropped, eyes wide.

"_Mon dieu,_ Valentin. Well, you weren't imagining them. So what now?"

"Courfeyrac and I are the only people who can see you, correct?" Patria nodded. "Right. In that case, only talk to me when I'm alone or with Courfeyrac. If I end up in an asylum because people think I'm seeing things, I'm no help to whatever cause you need me for. If people think I'm talking to Courfeyrac no-one will get suspicious."

"What gave you the right to tell me what to do?" Saint-Just snapped. "I will not be ordered around by a teenager. It was me who inspired your precious revolution. What you're doing isn't revolution, it's a bunch of children having a tantrum in the streets."

"Think what you will, but I learnt from mistakes. Perhaps my revolution won't be as big as yours, or even as successful. But perhaps you weren't successful, since you were executed for the murder of at least thirty thousand people. The Terror was not a revolution either, it was a massacre."

Patria grabbed hold of the revolutionary's arm as he started forward, and Courfeyrac pulled Enjolras back, recognising the look of cold fury in his eyes. The tension between the pair could have been cut with a knife. Courfeyrac pulled Enjolras close to him, speaking softly. "Don't do anything stupid. I don't exactly know much about ghosts in myth and legend, but I have the feeling that it's a bad idea to upset one who's technically a poltergeist."

Enjolras tugged his arm free from Courfeyrac's grasp, glaring at the spirit. "I suppose you're right. I don't care what you want with me, you can tell me in the morning. For now, leave."

Patria nodded. She pressed a kiss to Enjolras's forehead. "Goodnight, little one. Ignore him, there's nothing he can do to you." With that, she vanished. Enjolras scarcely noticed, still glaring at the spirit of the revolutionary. He cast the younger boy a dirty look.

"If I had any choice in this, I wouldn't come back."

"Then it's an awful shame that you don't have a choice. Out."

Hours later, Courfeyrac had managed to convince Enjolras to go to bed, rather than sit up all night in a state of frustration. The young blonde was fast asleep, lying peacefully, even though Courfeyrac was sure that whatever he was thinking would have any other person tossing and turning. He'd hidden behind his marble facade for so long that he couldn't help but keep it up.

As he slid into bed beside the other youth, Courfeyrac was sure he could feel someone watching him. It could have been born from paranoia, but he wanted to make sure. "Saint-Just? If you're here, leave us alone. Only a coward attacks a helpless opponent. Just let us sleep in peace, please."

In the morning, when Courfeyrac woke up, Enjolras was gone and there were raised voices coming from the other room. It told him three things; the past twenty-four hours hadn't been a dream, Saint-Just hadn't murdered either him or Enjolras while they slept, and he still wasn't getting on well with with his only grandchild.

He got up out of bed and headed through towards the voices, the conversation becoming clearer. "Well, maybe I'd rather be descended from the man who put an end to the Terror than a cold-blooded murderer!" A noise that sounded like a slap. Courfeyrac pushed open the door. Enjolras was on his feet, one cheek bright red, blazing with anger. Patria stood in front of him, sheilding him from an equally angry Saint-Just. The goddess had the look of a street gamine, fierce and unyielding. Courfeyrac conceeded that she did represent the entirety of the people.

"How dare you?" Saint-Just hissed. "A cold-blooded murderer? I freed the people, didn't I?"

"Sometimes, bloodshed is necessary. But you killed people because they happened to be born into an aristocratic family. That goes against equality. I was a fool to think you were a hero. You're a monster."

Saint-Just stepped forward, hand raised. Patria pushed him away with surprising force, and he stumbled backwards. "Don't you dare. You will not raise your hand to him, because you know he's speaking the truth. He is far more valuable than you, and I will not have you trying to bully him into submission. You are his subordinate, not the other way round."

"Why?" Enjolras snapped, frustrated. "What on earth could possibly give me command over him?"

"I'm your guide, little one. I will lead your revolution forward. You are the only person who can cancel out what happened in the Reign of Terror, the only heir of Saint-Just that can clear his name. He has to protect you and look after you as penance. He remains in purgatory until you succeed."

"You want me to make up for the murder of thousands? How?"

"By getting through your revolution and being a more tolerant leader. You want equality, not just to be rid of the aristocracy."

"No pressure then," Courfeyrac said, laughing to try and clear the tension. "Come on, Valentin. Lets get down to the cafe, before Combeferre comes looking for you. Are you planning on telling him that it's real?"

"I don't know, I'll work it out. I don't want him to think I'm hallucinating, but the fewer people know, the better. I'll think about it."

Patria waved them off, refusing to let Saint-Just follow. "We'll see you soon. You two need to work some things out."

"If you say so. Come on, let's go."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for irregular updates, it's exam time, and I'm also trying to work on too many ideas. Things should be much more fluent in the New Year, and hopefully I'll get a couple more chapters before them. **

**Also, if the Amis seem a little OOC (especially Enjolras), they're younger here than they are in the novel, and I will work towards them having the canon personalities.**

**Unknown reviewer: Dammit. My research for this fic isn't going too well. And yes, Enjolras did idolise Saint-Just, but if opposites attract, then surely similarities repel. They're both far too stubborn and headstrong to get along with one another. Still, because I'm a big softie, they'll reconcile soon.**

They lied to Combeferre in the end. Trying to keep things as low-key as possible, they told him that Enjolras had fallen asleep, dreamt the encounter and not realised until there'd been no trace of the apparitions. Combeferre didn't look convinced, but didn't push the matter. Courfeyrac dragged Enjolras over to a table, demanding to know what had happened between him and Saint-Just.

"A few days ago, if anyone had mentioned Saint-Just, you could have gone for hours talking about all the brilliant things he did. Now you're fighting like cat and dog." Enjolras sighed and nodded.

"I know. He's disappointed or angry or something. I'm guessing here, but it's the best I can do. He's irritated that he's stuck in purgatory, that he's under the control of a teenager, and I think I look a lot like my father, and therefore my grandfather. Or who I thought was my grandfather. Not that I'm blameless. Everytime he irritates me, I lash out and say something I shouldn't. Things I don't really believe, but I say it anyway."

"And this morning?"

"We argued. I can't remember what about, but things went a bit out of control. I said some things and he hit me. Patria jumped in the way, and that was when you came in."

"He hit you?"

"God, the amount of tension between us, that was probably the best I could have hoped for. I need to relieve some stress, or things will not go well. It's driving me completely insane. I think I need to get out of the city for a while, preferably without my new shadows."

"Where will we go?"

"We?"

"Well, you're not running off on your own. Maybe we should go shooting. We'll only be gone a day or two, and it always used to calm you down when we were younger."

The pair's form of stress relief couldn't really be called hunting. In their youth, their distate for the sport had been a mixture of pacifism and being far too squeamish to even consider killing an animal. They'd gone into the forest and shot at tree trunks, using them as targets, making it a competition.

It would at least stop him from turning a gun on his grandfather, especially when he doubted it would do any good. He didn't really want to hurt his grandfather, but they just seemed to rub each other the wrong way. He nodded at Courfeyrac.

"Alright. When do you want to leave, and where are we going to stay?"

"I've got a brother that stays not far outside Paris. He's used to me and the others just dropping in without warning to escape from the city. He'll let us stay for a bit. But, for God's sake, tell Combeferre, or he'll think I've kidnapped you. We'll leave in the morning."

Enjolras decided not to even mention to the spirits that he was leaving. They'd figure it out pretty quickly. A part of him knew that they'd probably follow him, but he wanted to at least hope that he could get a little respite.

The next morning, the two of them left, with only a quick goodbye to the other Amis. It didn't take long for them to reach Courfeyrac's eldest brother, who seemed quite happy to see his youngest sibling. Nicolas de Courfeyrac had all of Aimé's energy and vitality, but was a little more mature, and had learned how to restrain his hyperactive brothers and sisters. The slight problem was that when the family got together, their antics were much worse than usual.

Nicolas threw his arms around his younger brother as soon as he saw him. "God, Aimé, it's been too long. You haven't come to see me in ages! Aw, my little baby brother's finally come to visit."

Enjolras laughed to see the blush on his friend's face, until Nicolas looked up at him. "Oh, you don't get away with this either. You could have easily convinced him to come, but you didn't. Besides, you've practically been part of our family since you were little. Still, I'm glad to see both of you. It has been a long time. So, _mes freres_, what brings you here?"

"Not much. We needed to get out of the city for a while, but not long enough to warrant going home."

Enjolras smiled. "I don't think my parents would be too happy if I attempted to come home anyway. I much prefer here."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. Make yourselves comfortable. Stay as long as you want. And don't do anything I wouldn't do."

The next morning, Enjolras left Courfeyrac to catch up with his brother and went out into the fields with a rifle. There was no forest to use as a target, but there were heavy wooden fence posts that wouldn't be easily destroyed. He aimed the rifle, took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

Missed. He was out of practise. "Well, boy, you'll never accomplish anything with anything like that." Enjolras jumped, letting out a rare curse and almost dropping the gun.

"I should have known you'd follow me. Where's Patria?" Saint-Just shrugged.

"She thinks we should give you space. Personally, I don't know how on earth she expects you to become a revolutionary leader if she refuses to go against you. We're meant to train and enourage you, not babysit you."

"You're a terrible babysitter." Saint-Just laughed, to Enjolras's surprise.

"And you have terrible aim. How are you going to survive the revolution if you can't even hit an inanimate piece of wood?"

"Not everything is about the revolution."

"Perhaps not now. You're still a kid, after all. But once you get involved, there's no way back. You need to be able to look after yourself."

"I'm fine."

"The people you care for, then? The boy you came here with, perhaps? If you can't even look after the people who matter, then it's all in vain."

"I don't need a lecture. If you want me to improve, show me how!"

"Why would you want help from me?"

"A good leader recognises the skills of those that he or she leads. They pick the person who's best for the job. You have experience, more so than most. Plus, I figure that I'm going to be stuck with you for the forseeable future. I don't have the energy to keep my friends together and constantly argue with you."

Saint-Just smiled again. "Good. Compromise. And you may not be the heir I would have had, given the choice, but it could have been worse. And I suppose we're stuck together. And learn how to fire that gun on your own. I had to."

The spirit vanished, leaving Enjolras to his thoughts. He gave a half smile. Apparently leaving Paris to come here hadn't been a complete waste of time. Carefully aiming again, he fired the rifle. The bullet hit the post dead centre.

**A/N: Next chapter hopefully won't be too long in coming. Also, I'll be introducing Marius.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for lack of updates recently. I went to see the film on Sunday, and if anyone hasn't seen it yet, it's well worth the time and money. Speaking of which, I now don't hate Marius as much as I used to (I'd previously only seen the 25th anniversary, with Nick Jonas in the role) so I think that might start to show. **

It had been a good few months since Enjolras and Courfeyrac had returned to Paris. Patria had left her charge in the care of his grandfather, with promises to visit him regularly. She apologised before she left, but he understood that she had to watch over everyone else. Enjolras was still on bad terms with Saint-Just, but there was less tension between the pair.

It wasn't long after Enjolras's eighteenth birthday that things started to get problematic between the pair of them again. The trouble came with the arrival of Marius Pontmercy.

Courfeyrac brought the hapless student into the cafe one afternoon. Enjolras recognised him from classes, but had never been properly introduced to him. He heard a groan from behind him. "God, I guarantee he's Gillenormand's grandson. He looks just like him. Is he dead now? He must be in his nineties. I met him a few times, I never did like him."

"Courfeyrac, this is driving me insane!" Their latest cover was that Enjolras was struggling with his classes. When in need of rescue from his grandfather, he'd call for Courfeyrac's help, blaming his troubles on his coursework. The downside was Combeferre's increasing suspicion. He knew that Enjolras was sailing through the course, practically dragging Courfeyrac along behind him. He knew they were hiding something, but he'd long forgotten the day Enjolras had stumbled into the cafe ranting about the spirit of Saint-Just.

Courfeyrac slid into the seat beside Enjolras, casting a quick glance at Saint-Just. "What's wrong?"

"I think he knows one of your new friends relatives."

"I can speak for myself, boy."

"I'd prefer it if you didn't." Courfeyrac nodded the newcomer over to the table, and he sat almost nervously.

"Well, _mon ami_, this is the reason I didn't make it home last night." The young man's cheeks flushed red, Enjolras's cool gaze doing nothing to relieve his embarrassment.

"I had wondered. It seems the only time you use your own apartment is when you have friends round that you think I'll disapprove of."

"Not always. You can be quite intimidating, and I didn't want to scare him."

"I'm intimidating? You know what my grandfather's like, you'd be no better in my position."

"You too, huh?" The newcomer addressed Enjolras for the first time.

"Valentin, this is Marius Pontmercy. Remember, the one that Bossuet started the argument with Blondeau over? His grandfather kicked him out over political views. I thought you of all people would sympathise. He's got nowhere to go, so I offered him a place to stay. Marius, this is Valentin Enjolras, our Fearless Leader. His grand... adoptive grandfather is famed for bringing down the French Revolution. His real grandfather was on the other side of the line."

The pair shook hands, Marius finally managing to meet Enjolras's eyes. "So you're the infamous son of Antoine d'Orleans? The grandson of Matthieu Enjolras?"

"Infamous?" Courfeyrac laughed at the baffled expression on Enjolras's face, and noticed Saint-Just starting to pay attention.

"My grandfather, Luc-Espirit Gillenormand, he was alive at the time of the revolution." Saint-Just gave a laugh of triumph, but his grandson ignored him, eager to hear more of what Marius had to say. "Your family's been famous for years. My grandfather says that Matthieu did a great service to the nation, and that you and your mother should be proud to be descended from him. So it caused a bit of a scandal when you apparently vanished off the face of the earth. I doubt you're as well known here, among the people, but you've made quite a name for yourself among the upper class."

"And you? What side of the line do you stand?"

"Neither. Neither the monarchy nor the Revolution are doing us any good. I think this nation truly became great until the Empire." Enjolras shrugged.

"To each their own. Courfeyrac, I'm heading back. Are you coming home tonight."

"Not sure. Why, are you jealous?"

"Jealous? Even after all this time, you never cease to amaze me. Just wondering. I have a lot of studying to do." His eyes flickered towards the spirit beside him.

"I'm sure you'll be fine. See you later."

"I'll walk with you," Combeferre offered, and Enjolras resisted the temptation to groan. He liked Combeferre, but he could feel the tension brewing between himself and Saint-Just over the newcomer. He just wanted to get home and get the rowing over and done with. Nevertheless, he nodded at Combeferre.

"So what do you think of that Marius?"

"Could be worse. I may not agree with his views, but I think I can show him that the Empire wasn't a good thing."

"Pontmercy," Saint-Just mused. "Gillenormand's son-in-law. They fell out because he fought at Waterloo." Enjolras wondered how he could know this - the battle of Waterloo was long after his death - but didn't question it. They discussed the positives and negatives of Marius's viewpoint for a while, Enjolras pointedly ignoring his grandfather's interruptions.

"Enjolras?"

"Hm?"

"What exactly do you see in Courfeyrac?" The abruptness of the question made Enjolras stop dead, and Saint-Just sighed. They'd gone from political revolutionaries to schoolboys in a matter of moments.

"What do you mean?"

"It seems to me that he does nothing but distract you from what we're meant to be doing. He plays the fool and messes around. He won't even complete his studies. And why are you pretending that you need help? I know you don't."

"In answer to your first question, Courfeyrac is my oldest friend. I know I can rely on him, and I trust him with anything. He's helped and encouraged me. He helps the cause. Many react better to a friendly chat than a speech to a crowd, and colloquialism is more his skill than mine. In answer to your seond question... it's complicated. I'll explain one day. I don't doubt that I could get through school without Courfeyrac's help, but I need his assistance in other matters. But that's a story for another day."

"Alright then. Don't think of him as being in any way related to the cause. What does Courfeyrac mean to you, personally, not your Patria?"

"What's brought this on? We've gone from discussing Buonoparte to my relationship with Courfeyrac in a matter of seconds. How?"

"I'm curious. You're an odd pair."

"He's lying," Saint-Just snarled. For some reason Enjolras could never explain, his grandfather was always mistrusting of his deputy.

"How can you know that?" Enjolras hissed under his breath, thankful that Combeferre didn't notice.

"The dead see a lot more than the living. Patria gave me the power to see the truth, she thought it would help me watch over you. And he's lying to you. He doesn't like your other little friend, and he's jealous that he gets more attention from you."

"Enjolras? Are you alright?"

"Fine. Courfeyrac has been my closest friend for as long as I can remember. And yes, I often see him as more than a friend. It's not really something I can explain. Joly and Bossuet, they'll understand. From what I can see, they have a similar relationship."

"But why him? I've seen the way people look at you out in the streets. You could have any girl you wanted. And as for him, despite the fact that you won't look at someone else twice, he runs off with anyone who catches his eye. Someone so true shouldn't be tied to someone so unfaithful. It's wrong, and you deserve more."

Saint-Just laughed, his anger at the Bonapartist forgotten in this opportunity for making his grandson even more uncomfortable. "And now he starts to show his true colours! It's not just your attention that he wants, obviously. He wants you."

"Combeferre, I've got to go. There's things I've got to do."

"Enjolras, if I've upset you, I'm sorry."

"It's not you. Really. I'll see you tomorrow." As soon as Combeferre had reluctantly left, Enjolras rounded on his grandfather. "What is your problem?"

"Your deputy. He's lying to you, and has been fora while."

"Perhaps he has, but what he thinks of me is a personal matter, and none of your concern."

"God, you're an idiot. First you let a Bonapartist into a group of republicans..."

"He's not fixed. He's at a point where he's changing his mind, a little confused, and I can easily wing that in our favour."

"If you say so. But if your deputy can lie to you about something simple, who knows what else he could be lying about. All it takes is one weak link in your chain, one anonymous tip-off to the police and you're all done for. I openly admit I don't like your little mistress..."

"Stop calling Aimé that!"

"...But at least he's open with you."

"You might be able to see the truth, but I can't. How do I know you're not lying?"

"Believe it or not, I have better things to do with my time than lie to a teenaged brat about a boy who's clearly besotted with him. Your father's right, you obviously look to much like a girl to get all this male attention."

"Shut up. My relationship with my friends is no concern of yours. I can still carry out my duty."

"Do you think Maximilien and I succeeded by lying to one another?"

"How many times will I have to explain that you didn't succeed? Alright, if you really want to examine my relationships in close detail, I love Courfeyrac and only Courfeyrac. That isn't because he's male, but because of who he is. Perhaps you're right, and Combeferre feels the same about me, but I can not so easily transfer my affections. None of this has anything to do with the revolution, so I will not waste any more time on it with you."

Saint-Just didn't respond. Enjolras sighed. "So?"

"So what?

"Well, you're convinced your revolution was a success, so what's the secret of the brilliant alliance you had with Robespierre?" There was a heavy dose of sarcasm in his tone.

"Just deal with that Bonapartist." With that, he was gone.

**A/N: Hmmmm, to S-J/Robespierre, or to not S-J/Robespierre? The poll is on my profile. Time skip for next chapter, 1830, birth of the July Monarchy.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Finally able to write again! Working on a one-shot to be posted in the next few days,and my other two multi-chapters, but somehow managing to keep on top of everything. Just. **

**July 28 1830**

It had been a hard few days. Realising that leaving her charge in his grandfather's care would do no good, Patria banished Saint-Just, and took over Enjolras's care herself. "I'll guide you through this," she promised. "This isn't the end, far from it, and I promise that you and all your friends will make it through this uprising."

"How do you know? This could be the end. If this is a success..."

"This time, you are just a soldier. You will follow a leader, and I don't know yet if it will be to victory or defeat. But this isn't over until you are the one leading. It's only then that everything will become right and I'll be at peace." Courfeyrac, leaning against a wall next to Enjolras, glared at Patria.

"This isn't fair." Enjolras cast him an odd look.

"I think we'd all realised that. It's why we're all here."

"And you pick now to gain a sense of humor? Really, though, it's ridiculously unfair on you. He really couldn't have picked a worse person to dump your mother on. If he'd cared enough to look after her himself, you wouldn't be in this mess."

"I'd still be his only heir."

"You mean you haven't realised yet? Enjolras, the king is your father's cousin. You have to choose between two sides of your family, and if this backfires, it could rip your family apart."

"Do you recall when we were on the Rue Platriere, not long after Marius moved in with you? We had the discussion about Jean-Jacques Rosseau. In order to continue his work, Saint-Just had to give up my mother. My family is already falling apart. One family in the grand scheme of things won't change anything."

"It will if that family is the only thing standing between Patria and freedom."

"None of that matters now. I'm in this far too deep to turn away, even if I wanted to. Now, we have work to do. Look after yourself."

"You too. Most of all because Combeferre would be unbearable if you got yourself hurt." Enjolras gave a small smile, standing up straight and picking up his discarded carbine.

"I'll see you soon. So, _ma dame_, what next?"

Courfeyrac tried not to panic when he couldn't find Enjolras later. There were barricades all across the city, and he knew that Enjolras would be needed elsewhere. Bahorel, notorious for flitting between the groups, reported that he'd seen Enjolras somewhere near the river less than an hour since. "He was fine last I saw. He'll be back before long. Now stop worrying. You know he hates you worrying over nothing."

Courfeyrac nodded and returned to his duties. Enjolras was protected. No matter how this turned out, the Amis were safe. Reassured by this, he continued, managing to pull an overexcited student out of the path of a bullet. He felt elated, as if nothing could go wrong.

His ecstasy was destroyed by a wave of panic and terror sweeping over him, making him double over in almost physical pain. He didn't know why the emotion had hit him, but somehow, he knew where to go. Combeferre dropped down beside him. "Courfeyrac, what's wrong? Are you hit?" He shook his head.

"If Enjolras comes back, tell him I won't be long." He ran as fast as he could, following the unknown signal. He skidded to a stop in an almost empty street, seeing a redheaded woman bent over a figure in the street.

"Patria!" She looked up.

"I take it that means you got my distress call, then?"

"Distress? What's wrong? Where's Enjolras?" His eyes slid to the figure on the floor. "No..."

"Don't worry. I'm sorry, I didn't see the gunman, but I reacted in time to make sure his wound won't be fatal. He's unconcious, and you need to get him to a doctor." Courfeyrac dropped down beside Enjolras. His white shirt was stained with a bloody rosette on his left shoulder. He gave a groan of protest when Courfeyrac lifted him to his feet, trying to support him.

"I told you to look after yourself, you foolish boy. Combeferre will have you out of action for at least a fortnight. I best get you back to him." Patria took hold of his other arm, helping Courfeyrac support him.

"I should have been watching him. I should never have let this happen." The goddess looked distraught, and Courfeyrac gave an easy smile.

"Don't fret. He'll be fine. It's enough that he's alive. He'll be ready for your next revolution." With hazy, half-concious help from Enjolras, Courfeyrac managed to get him into Combeferre's care.

Three days later, Saint-Just had been allowed to return, and Enjolras was in the grips of an argument that could be mistaken for fevered delirium if Combeferre caught him talking to himself. "I suppose you've heard the news."

"Regarding the outcome of our uprising? Yes, I heard."

"You damned fool."

"How is this my fault? It's down to you that I ended up in this family."

"You let them steal the revolution. And not just some distant monarch, no. My grandson's uncle."

"I didn't chose this."

"Then fix it. That should be you. Get revenge on those who are making your people suffer. This is our land."

"I'm not here to take revenge for your betrayal, but to atone for the sins you committed against 'our land'."

"This is the only way. You can't sit back and let the world pass you by, just hoping it will change. You know as well as I do that that isn't the way things work. I know you don't want any unnecessary bloodshed, but sacrifices must be made. You have to act."

"I will not take your revenge. I mean it. I'm supposed to be cancelling out what you did not making it worse. That's the final word. For now, it's enough to have survived."

Saint-Just shook his head. "You're a cowardly brat, and you're never going to get anywhere." Enjolras gave a small smile.

"Well, Patria, the one we both fought for, thinks differently. Now goodnight."

For another three days, Enjolras really was caught in the grips of fever. Even Saint-Just was worried, though he'd never admit it once his grandson recovered. Patria watched over the panicked spirit, knowing full well that her champion would be fine, but leaving Saint-Just to worry. This was part of his penance. Patria knew that despite the constant arguing, Saint-Just cared deeply for Enjolras; after all, there may be a father who did not love his son, but never a grandfather who did not love his grandson.

He sat at Enjolras's side through his fever, unknown to all but Courfeyrac, who would always look surprised to find the spirit still there. He obediently asked Combeferre for an update on Enjolras's progress, and was always given the same answer. "There's a slight infection in the gunshot wound. He'll be fine as soon as he fights off the fever, he just needs time."

As promised, Enjolras started to recover, fighting off the illness. He hadn't noticed all those watching over him, and if he had, he would have told them not to waste their time on it. He wouldn't allow work to stand still because of a minor illness. While Enjolras was trying to catch up on what he'd missed, Courfeyrac confronted Saint-Just.

"What is it with you?"

"What do you mean, brat?"

"I mean this. The whole putting-up-a-front idea. You keep putting him through hell, and expecting him to help you, and that's fair enough, maybe you're just a horrible person who doesn't deserve your grandson. But I saw you while he was ill. You care, and I know you do, and you still put him hell."

"What do you care? I don't interfere in your family affairs."

"Enjolras is as close as family. He's had faith in you as long as I can remember, and I won't let you use that faith to hurt him."

"I wasn't intending to."

"Then tell me what you want from him."

"I'm doing my duty."

"Liar. Tell me. Why are you hiding what you really think?" For a moment the revolutionary dropped his gaze, and Courfeyrac seized it.

"You're only human - kind of - and you've just discovered that your revolution lives on in the spirit of a grandson you didn't think you'd ever have. I can always ask Patria, I'm sure she knows what you're thinking."

"Don't!" Obviously he was so embarrassed that he'd prefer to share his thoughts himself than let anyone else know. He was going to reveal all soon. Courfeyrac had spent years coaxing secrets out of his friends, the entire group's confidant. He'd get Saint-Just to confess.

"Then tell me."

He gave a very slight smile. "Would you be convinced if I told you it was to toughen him up? No? I didn't think so." He took a deep breath. "I've spent the last thirty years being shown over and over again what I did to the land I was supposed to love. And then comes hope. Him. You're right, I don't deserve the one person who can free me. In God's honest truth, I'm scared that if I let him get too close, I'll rub off in him, and he'll end up as the same hard-hearted tyrant that we created all those years ago."

Courfeyrac shook his head. "It's not that simple. He's not so easy to influence. Stop seeing him as your salvation, and start remembering that he is family. Otherwise I tell him everything you've just told me." Saint-Just relaxed a little and smiled.

"Obviously I was wrong. It's quite clear now that you're the tyrant."

**A/N: Yeah, I didn't have the heart to make Saint-Just evil or heartless or completely indifferent. It was Hugo himself that said all grandfather's love their grandsons, so it's kind of a tiny bit canon. Ish. Not doing so well in English these days, and not sure where I'm going wrong, so if I've made mistakes, please point them out.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Finally writing again, after discovering I haven't actually fried the laptop hard-drive. All my files are still here, and I can remember what points I got to in my stories.**

It was the beginning of August, and Enjolras was refusing to let Combeferre keep him in bed any longer. He was working on some plan or another with Feuilly an Bahorel, already planning to try again. Combeferre was hovering around nervously, convinced that Enjolras hadn't yet recovered and was going to drop dead at any moment. Patria appeared every now and again, murmuring a suggestion, or just to spur Enjolras on.

Courfeyrac was sat at the other side of the room. Saint-Just was sat beside him. Since bearing his heart to Courfeyrac, he'd refused to speak to him, and tensions between him and his grandson were even higher than usual. Enjolras just ignored him, focusing instead on what he was meant to be doing. Courfeyrac was trying his best to fix things. "For God's sake, you can't sulk forever. You're angry at him for being related to the king, but it can't be changed, and he's still doing what you expect him to. He's fighting his own family for you, and you're still angry at him?"

"For once, it's him that's angry at me."

"You've been telling him to renounce his family! The reason the two of you aren't talking is because you're too damned proud to apologise to him."

"He should have used his connections. He should go to the king and demand that he stands down. You lot won the revolution, and yet you stand back and let things continue as they were." Saint-Just grew steadily louder, catching Enjolras's attention. Courfeyrac gave him an apologetic glance, and Enjolras sighed, turning back to Feuilly and Bahorel.

"We need to get as much as possible finalised tonight. I think I have to pay my uncle a visit tomorrow." Combeferre frowned.

"All things considered, do you really think that's appropriate after last month?"

"It's beause of that that I have to. I have to work everything out. I fear I may be haunted by it otherwise."

"Haunted by what? You've done nothing wrong."

"Apparently some people don't agree," Enjolras said, glaring at Saint-Just. "I have to clear up my mess. Anyway, I'm heading home. Courfeyrac?"

"Coming." All the way home, Saint-Just didn't say a word. Enjolras was chatting away to Courfeyrac, but Courfeyrac could see he was frustrated, not to mention confused. It wasn't fair on him, having to choose. The family he'd grown up with were hardly perfect, and they'd argued, but they'd been good to him. Even Enjolras excepted that leaving home so soon had been rather hasty, and had swallowed his pride long enough to make a ceasefire with his parents. Saint-Just, on the other hand, was Enjolras's lifelong idol, the man who'd inspired all of his beliefs and his dream of a Utopia. But apparently even getting shot for those beliefs wasn't good enough.

Courfeyrac sighed. The two of them needed their heads banging together, the sooner, the better.

In the morning, Enjolras was getting ready to go out. Saint-Just looked ready to follow, and earnt a stony glare. "You're not coming. The last thing I need is my uncle thinking I'm insane."

"I need to come. Otherwise, you'll back out."

"What is it you think I'm going to do, exactly? March in there and demand that he abdicates? Of course, that's going to work out brilliantly. I'm trying to stop another king from making the same mistakes. I'm going to talk to him. I'm going to try and win this war without any bloodshed."

"Sooner or later, boy, you'll see that violence is the only way."

Enjolras shook his head and left. He headed to the palace and demanded to see his uncle. Saint-Just followed him there but obediently stayed outside. He had a feeling that this would go badly, and he decided that he'd humiliated the poor boy enough. He went back to the cafe.

Courfeyrac looked at him when he entered, rolling his eyes. "You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, then? When he gets back, you two really need to talk about things."

"Alright, I get it. I'm glad I never had anyone like you when I was trying to get things done. How does he cope with you?"

"Oh, what does it matter? We get by. Anyway, God knows what time he'll be back tonight. I'll stay at my own apartment. Marius is still moping over that Ursule girl and he needs cheering up. I'll see you later."

In the morning, Courfeyrac went over to Enjolras's apartment and found it empty. "He must already be at the cafe," he murmured to himself. He made his way over, but only found Combeferre there, reading the paper and looking agitated.

"Morning. Have you seen Enjolras?"

"No. I don't need to have seen him. He's all over the front pages."

"What? Why?"

"He's been arrested. It's pretty high-profile, the king's nephew being arrested on the king's orders."

"On what charges?"

"I don't know."

"I'm going to find out."

"Courfeyrac..."

"I'll tell them I'm his lawyer, it will let me see him. I need to pick someone up en route, but knowing him, he's already heard and is there already." Combeferre shook his head, wondering who on earth Courfeyrac meant. Who would have already heard the news and be at the prison?

Saint-Just was already there, which did nothing to ease Enjolras's temper. He hadn't slept all night, and had no idea what was going to happen to him. Saint-Just didn't stop to consider any of this.

"So, what have you done this time, brat?"

"Nothing."

"The fact that you're in a prison cell says otherwise."

"You were right, alright? Don't rub it in my face, I don't need it right now. But you were right. I tried to talk to him, to get some changes. I even sank to the level of begging him. And instead of taking pity, he threw me in here for wasting his time. And he knows I was involved in the revolution. There's talks of treason."

Saint-Just frowned. "But it's thanks to you lot that he's in power."

"He knows I'm capable of revolution, and that I'm unhappy. He won't take the risk that I might revolt against him. I'm as good as ruined."

"Calm down, boy. Patria won't let you suffer."

"What do you care? I've been nothing but a hinderance to you for years."

"Oh, for God's sake, you know that's not true, so grow up. Stop panicking and start focusing on how you're going to deal with your problems."

"There's only one way to deal with it. You were right. Diplomacy won't work. We need another revolution."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So yesterday marks a year to the day when I went to see Ramin Karimloo in concert, and he was my first Enjolras, so I am feeling particularly inspired. Also, I got my copy of the DVD of the movie the other day. I am happy.**

Courfeyrac managed to get in to see Enjolras after a lot of arguing with the prison guard. The blonde was pacing up and down, massively frustrated, and looked extremely happy to see his friend. "I see your grandfather isn't here."

"He's just left."

"Are you alright? What happened?"

"He wouldn't listen. I don't know what to do. I'm going to end up getting tried for treason if I don't get out of here. I'm going to end up under the blade." In less tense circumstances, Courfeyrac might have made a joke about following in Saint-Just's footsteps. But Enjolras looked genuinely scared, for the first time in a long time, and Courfeyrac couldn't bear it.

"I won't let that happen. Surely your father won't let his brother kill you."

"I genuinely don't know anymore. I feel like I don't know anything about my family."

"Well, I know one thing. You have powerful friends. I'll go to the king. I'll make sure that he lets you go."

"I tried to reason with him."

"Valentin, sweetheart, charming as you are, I have a trump card to play. I won't be using my own words. Your goddess will not see you come to harm, and I intend to call on her for help. I'll get you out of here, I promise."

"What if I can't do this? What if I end up in here again, and you can't save me?"

"That won't happen. France is behind you. You'll succeed, and we'll get to see your new world. Now, until I get you out, try and make up with your grandfather. He cares for you a lot more than he lets on, and I'm sick to death of the arguing."

"He started it."

"Jesus Christ, that was so childish that I must have imagined that coming from you. I love you, but the two of you need to sort everything out. I reckon you'll hate me for this, but I also think you'll thank me in the long run. You're staying here until you work things out."

"Courfeyrac..."

"Don't, because you know that I will cave, because it's hard to say no to you. But for once, I'm being the sensible one. I don't want to leave you here, but it's the only way that the two of you will sort things out. I won't be gone long."

"Please. He doesn't care about me, I'm just his way out of hell."

"That's not true. I'm sorry, I really am, but I know he cares, and maybe this is what it will take for him to show it. Curse me all you want, swear and rage, hate me. If you leave me, I guess I deserve it, but I know I'm doing the right thing." Courfeyrac didn't dare look at Enjolras, for fear he'd see someone he didn't recognise. Someone scared, lost, who looked at him with hatred. Someone who wasn't his fearless childhood friend. He kept his head down. A hand slid through the bars and gripped his.

"Alright. It would be a lie to say you've never steered me wrong, but I trust you. If you think this is the best way, I'll try. As much as I dislike the idea of being locked up with only him for company, I'll take the risk."

Courfeyrac left him, and Enjolras sank on to the bunk, calling for Saint-Just. The spirit appeared, looking angry. "You can't just call me and expect me to come like a dog. And I am not getting all mushy and emotional for the sake of your bloody mistress."

"I promised that I'd try, and I care more about annoying him than you. If you want your name cleared, you have to help me and stop fighting me. Maybe I'm not what you wanted. Maybe I'm not good enough for you, and right now, I don't care. I'm all you have, then we're going to have to start working together. And if you're so determined that I'm failing you, tell me what I'm doing wrong!"

"You're convinced that you can change everything with words. And look how it ended up."

"Haven't you rubbed that in enough? I've conceded, I'll do things your way, and yet you're still not happy. What am I doing wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Then what is it?" Enjolras was starting to get angry. He was sick to death of going round in circles, and this had to be dealt with. "Is it my friends? Tell me!"

"It's not your problem, alright? You're trying to do everything the same way I did. I can't even criticise Aimé de Courfeyrac without being hypocritical."

"Robespierre."

"Exactly. And as much as it hurts me to admit it, you were right. I failed. And while I doubt that you can succeed without fighting, your precious goddess thinks you can do this. I always wanted someone to follow in my footsteps, and now I have you. If you keep following me, you'll end up the same way as me."

"But this is what you wanted of me!"

"When's the last time you admitted to someone that you were wrong? You come from a proud family, boy, and I'm no exception to that."

"You're risking the chance to clear your name over pride?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know what else I'm supposed to say to you. I was stupid, and there's nothing I can do about it now. Look, I'll just go and get Aimé, tell him that we've worked things out."

"But we haven't. I've been doing what since I was eighteen, and only now you decide to admit that your damned pride has been steering me wrong? You told me to go to the king. And now, I'm in prison, and my family are probably going to turn their backs on me now. I may be proud, but do not compare me to you. I was going to lead my men... my friends to their deaths for you. They're all young, and all willing to die for us, for you. You'll let them die for your pride? Well, I wont give you chance. You can tell Courfeyrac we're done. I have nothing more to say to you, and I want nothing more to do with you. You can stay in purgatory forever."


End file.
